Heathen
by PineappleGrenade
Summary: Alex Drake may think she has escaped the past but what she doesn't realise is that the past hasn't finished with her yet.
1. Chapter 1

There always has been, always will be, always is a Gene Hunt. He is the constant.

Humans stubbornly suffer from a preoccupation with the 'what-if'. They pick past wounds over in their heads and instead of letting them heal they constantly leave it to fester wide open with thoughts of 'maybe if I had…' and 'if only…' A great significance is placed on childhood, and the idea that the wrongs committed there become malevolent spectres that haunt the future. We are not in control of our destinies.

But then there are men like DCI Gene Hunt who know that every once in a while someone is given the chance to go back to the moment when it all went wrong. It happens to men like Sam Tyler and women like Alex Drake who are dogged by the past. Now and again, in our dangerous world that we inhabit, men and women stand and stare death in the face. They suffer head wounds that tear open the thin gauze between Now and Then, and waiting for them on the other side is Gene Hunt.

* * *

Alex Drake found being alone difficult these days. When there was silence, she was on tenterhooks, waiting for the next noise she heard to drive her to the brink of insanity, but she didn't dare switch on the TV or radio to chase away the soundless void lest he be waiting for her across the gap of decades.

Night times were the worst, when she would lie awake in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking of a different ceiling in a different time when the television was always on because it was her link to the real world. Finally it would all become too much for her and then she would rise from her bed – her own bed, the one that belonged here with her in 2008 – and go into her daughter's room. There she would sit on the armchair in the corner and listen gratefully to the girl's regular breathing. Molly never said anything about waking up to find her mother asleep in the chair. She never said anything much anymore.

If the night was difficult there was something even more harrowing about the morning. Alex would get up, unsteady and disorientated from lack of sleep, and for a while she would stand staring at the lunchbox she was supposed to be making. Molly got her own breakfast. At roughly ten minutes past the time they were supposed to leave, Alex would grab her little girl's hand and walk to the school with her. There was once a time when Evan would have taken care of the school run, driving the child there in his car. But Alex was still on leave in order to recover from her head injury, so she had the time to do it herself. She wouldn't have it any other way.

This morning, the air felt good on her bleary eyes and the promising bite of rain was more refreshing than the tea she hadn't wanted to make in case the boiling kettle began to speak with a voice she never wanted to hear again. But she knew that when it came to crossing the roads she clutched Molly's hand hard enough to hurt those frail bones and the sound of her own voice to her ears was harshly nagging. When they walked past an electronics shop with televisions on in the window, she realised too late how much it scared the girl beside her to hear her mother take a sharp, frightened intake of breath. She felt like a terrible parent.

Upon arrival at the school she felt a profound ache of fear and loneliness. Thinking of all the time she had spent trapped in her past, not knowing if she would ever get to see her daughter again, she was loathe to let Molly out of her sight. Patiently, the girl pried her hand free of the deadlock of her mother's fist.

"Bye Mum. See you tonight." The girl's voice was bright, but the smile on her upturned face held traces of anxiety. After a pause, she turned and ran through the school gates, waving and laughing as she caught sight of a small group of her friends standing in wait for her.

The distance between mother and daughter seemed to stretch out like treacle, as if Molly was running down a vast funhouse tunnel that was capable of warping reality. The sense of loss was overwhelming. Tears pricked the corners of Alex's eyes.

"I love you Molls," she said quietly, too late for the child to hear.

She couldn't go on like this, living only a half-life because she was scared that one day she would wake up and find out that it had all been a dream. She had to embrace life again, draw it to her and enjoy it. She had to forget all about Gene Hunt – block him from her mind entirely. She was the only person who could get her life back together again.

"Good thing I'm going back to work today then, isn't it?" Alex muttered to herself, trying out a confident smile, but it turned into something twisted and wry.

* * *

Alex Drake was the only person that Gene had ever come close to telling the truth to. Over the time that he spent with her, he would occasionally find himself dropping hints and clues to a greater revelation that not even he himself was fully aware of. So much a product of his time, a chronological tool, the constant, he carried no conscious awareness of his role through the years. He just did what he had been put on the Earth to do. No questions asked, but plenty of complaints voiced and heads bashed against sinks in the gents'.

Once, he had said to her "I know why you're here, Alex, for the same reason as me." For a split-second, there seemed to be a secret war raging in his head between the words that were to come out next. Ultimately, he had given her a heartfelt line about upholding the law, but later on he thought about that feeling of a revelation trembling on the tip of his tongue to be released. He couldn't think what this revelation but have been, so he gave the thought no mind. There were too many important things to occupy him.

But then he had shot Alex and things had all gone terribly wrong…

* * *

"You look a little pale, Alex. Are you sure you're ready to come back?"

The voice of Superintendant Coombs filtered down through the layers of her consciousness and a faint blush tinted Alex's cheeks as she realised that she hadn't been listening to him. Slipping her hands absently into the back pockets of her jeans, she looked up at the man with a brightly manufactured smile and answered as chirpily as was possible on only a couple hours sleep "Yeah. Yes, I'm absolutely fine, sir. Just glad to be back."

"And we're glad to have you back." Coombs returned with a smile more genuine than her own, but almost equal in levels of distraction. He turned his attention down to the sheaf of papers in his hands, rifling through them. A frown line creased the centre of his forehead. "Ah yes, there've been some changes made whilst you were away…" he told the neatly typed sheets.

A couple of people Alex knew strolled past as the Superintendant was engaged with his notes. Deeply engaged in trying to get what looked like the latest model of iPhone to do one of its special tricks, only one of them noticed her. He looked up and gave her a friendly wave, just as his companion managed to tune into a radio station reporting the football results from last night.

Only, as the device blared abruptly into life, she didn't hear what team had scored how many goals, but the unmistakable voice of Gene Hunt calling across from the '80s "Wake up, Bolls, wake up!" She gave a start and her reciprocal wave seemed to get lost on the way to her hand. She had to fight against the impulse to put her hands over her ears and block out that terrible phantom voice. With an enormous effort that drew upon all the training in psychology that she had received, she reminded herself that the auditory and visual hallucinations she had been suffering were merely symptoms of the psychological stress she had been through since being shot and waking up to find herself in 1981. She had to fight as hard as she could against the idea that what was happening now – getting her life back and being with Molly again – were mere hallucinations and that her rightful place was back with Gene and the others over two decades ago. More than anything else, she didn't want to end up like poor Sam Tyler.

Her colleague gave a start at her odd reaction to his greeting, but soon he was swept up in the football scores and disappeared off down the corridor with his friend, thankfully taking the noise with him.

"So you'll be…" Coombs paused, looking up from the paper he held. His eyes widened with concern. "Alex, sit down, you look ill." He took her resisting forearm and led her to a string of chairs that lined the corridor wall, helping her down into one. "Maybe you should take another week off. You know, wait until you're sure you're up to this."

"No!" There was that harping quality to her voice again, the one she had used on her daughter this morning, except now it was tinged with desperation. The sound of it frightened Alex. She took a deep breath. Forcing herself to calm down she continued in a softer tone of voice "I'm fine, really. It's just… just a bit of a headache."

Coombs pulled a face that was a mixture of male understanding and anxiety. "Oh. Well, if you're sure… As I was saying, we've made some changes. You've been reassigned to a new division in order to keep you having to get involved in any other potentially dangerous situation."

"What do you mean, sir?"

The man must have noticed the cold edge to her voice, because he quickly replied "It's not that I don't believe in your ability to handle yourself in such situations Alex, in fact I think you performed admirably in that hostage situation, but we all agreed that it would be best if you took things a little easier for a while."

Alex pushed an impatient hand back through her hair, getting ready to argue. "I don't need special treatment, I want to be treated exactly the same as everyone else, not as if I have some kind of… of… _disability_." She felt ashamed of herself as soon as the word was out of her mouth – shame for the way she had spat it out as if it were something filthy, and for the look of embarrassment that surfaced painfully on the Superintendant's face.

Dropping the air of harassed professionalism that he perpetually surrounded himself with, Coombs sat down beside her. After a pause, he reached across and lightly took hold of her hand. "I know that I may be overstepping a line here, but your daughter was very badly shaken up by what happened to you… Seeing her there at the hospital waiting to know how you were… She's been through enough, for her sake, take things easy for a while."

Alex's breath caught in her throat and she pressed her fingertips to he mouth to keep it from freeing itself in a sob. Coombs was right, he _had_ overstepped the line by presuming to talk about her daughter like that to her, but she had to admit that what he said made a lot of sense. Sometimes it took an outsider's opinion to bring perspective to a matter and however upset it had made her, she was grateful that he had said it. She gave a small nod of agreement.

"Who will I be working with?"

"Your new DCI will be… Oh, never mind, here's the man himself now. Hunt, come over here and meet your new Detective Inspector."

* * *

Hindsight is the most coveted and most useless form of sight. Yet with the benefit of it, so many things can be theoretically put right. People going back into the past with the knowledge they have gained throughout their years of experience can learn things about themselves they would never have even been able to imagine in a strictly chronological life. They can right wrongs and avert disaster and sometimes they can make choices that will forever change who they are.

Alex may have thought she'd done everything that she needed to do, that she had escaped the past, but she hadn't entertained the notion that perhaps the past still needed her.

* * *

For a moment, Alex was convinced that her mind was playing tricks on her and that she was hallucinating again. Then she thought that 'Hunt' was not an uncommon surname and it was perfectly conceivable that here in 2008 there was another DCI Hunt. And then she saw him and was unable to think at all.

The man walking towards her with the serious face and combed back sandy hair was Gene Hunt. Her constant. It was the very same Gene Hunt that had haunted her past and her present just as he had haunted Sam Tyler's. Only, it couldn't have been him, not the same person, because he hadn't aged a day. He was identical to the man in every single way. Even his voice had the same gruff, no-nonsense quality, she realised as he reached out a hand to her and said "Good to have you on board, DI Drake."


	2. Chapter 2

Considering what a small and insignificant object it appeared to be, it was remarkable the amount of damage one bullet could do. On its own, it looked so harmless, just a lump of lead, but when fired at high velocity from a contraption of pistons, hammers and chambers it could end lives, hopes and – more pertinently – careers.

Gene Hunt knocked back his fourth shot and thought about going to visit Alex in the hospital. Raising one hand, he gestured to Luigi to bring him another drink. The small Italian man looked concerned, but nevertheless complied without comment. He hovered uncertainly beside Gene as the man threw back the shot in one swift, businesslike mouthful. There was no lingering, no enjoyment in the way he drank it – he drank with the grim determination of a man at odds with reality.

Word was that he had shot Alex Drake, the pretty DI with the appreciation for finely cooked veal. Ever since his suspension from duty, he had whiled away the time awaiting verdict sitting here with Luigi, a stiff drink never far from hand. Sometimes he would pause in his drinking, the glass held halfway to his lips, and he would stare straight ahead as if unsure of where he was. In these moments he would look lost in a way that disturbed Luigi to see, but then the man would shake himself and the surly anger that seemed to hang around him in greater quantities than usual these days would settle about him once more.

Gene contemplated the bottom of his glass and then looked up at the clock on the wall, noting that soon his former colleagues would be filing in for their after-work drinks. He drew a few notes from his pocket, tucked them under the glass, slung on his heavy coat and walked silently from the building. He told himself he was leaving because he needed to go and see Alex before visiting hours were over, because he didn't want to hang around to see Shaz and Chris slobbering over each other like lovesick puppies, because he needed a walk. He told himself anything rather than admit the truth that he couldn't stand to endure the look in their eyes – the childlike faith in him, the hope. He was their Guv, he could do no wrong. And yet he had shot Alex. An accident of course, but how was he ever going to prove that if Sleeping Beauty chose never to wake up? That would be just like her, going out of her way to try and make things difficult for him, to prove him wrong.

In a foul mood, even the sight of his precious red Audi Quattro doing nothing to cheer his spirits, he yanked open the driver's side door and got in behind the wheel. He tugged on his favoured driving gloves with more force than was necessary, scowling out of the window up at the sky. The clouds were heavy and grey, casting an urban gloom over the streets. Looked like they were in for rain, just what he needed.

Starting up the car, feeling the power thrum through it, the wheel waiting and eager beneath his hands he decided that, despite the quiet threat of the weather, he would go for a drive before going to the hospital. There was no limit to the healing powers of driving just to watch the road being eaten up, listening to the engine growl with pleasure, revelling in the power of speed. Yes, a drive would do him the world of good, Gene decided. It would clear his head and give him time to think.

He lost track of the time he spent traversing the streets with no real destination in mind, the window cranked down a little to let in a taste of the bitter air. Far from getting any serious thinking done, his mind was a pleasantly sozzled blank, allowing his instincts to guide his hands on the wheel. And that was the way it remained until he became aware by degrees and inches of the car tailing him. Coming back to himself, he glanced up in the driving mirror to get a better view of the sleek black vehicle behind him. Thinking about it, he couldn't remember a point during his drive that it hadn't been somewhere in his sight.

_Operation Rose_ was the first coherent thought to surface in his mind. The crooked bastards had been none too happy with his interference in their plans and it was all too conceivable that even if he was in disgrace with the force, they still wanted to even things out a little. Well, that was absolutely fandabbydozy by him. With a recklessness that was usually beyond even his adventurous driving habits, he seized the wheel and wrenched the car around in a sudden U-turn. His lips peeled back in a grimly feral smile at the sound of the road squealing beneath his tires. Jamming his foot down on the accelerator he sped towards the other car, visions of the looks of surprise on the faces of the drivers inside dancing in his head.

At the last moment, when it looked as though a collision might be inevitable, he coaxed the wheel into action once again, swerving past the tail in a grind of ruined paintwork.

"Watch where you're bloody going!" He shouted at the other car, leaning out of the window to look back at it and make sure that his message was heard. Then it disappeared from view as he swallowed up the pavement.

Perhaps it was the alcohol he had consumed, or maybe he was harbouring some secret wish to do himself harm, but he ignored all training he had ever received on losing a tail. Instead of taking a tortuous route to a densely populated area where he could blend into the general surrounding chaos of living, he headed straight for a long road that he knew would be deserted at this time of day. At first he thought he might have lost the other car after all, scared it off with his acrobatics, but there it was, growing ever larger in his wing mirror.

"Bastards," Gene muttered to himself, stepping down harder on the accelerator. But the other car matched his pace and then there it was, on the road beside him. He craned to get a good look at the driver but the sun was conspiring against him, sending needles of light lancing painfully into his eyes. With a curse he wrenched his head away, fiercely trying to knuckle the hallucinogenic dancing purple spots from his eyes, suddenly horrible aware of how vulnerable he had made himself.

There was the crunch of tortured metal and a rocking impact that threatened to send his beautiful Quattro spinning out of control as the other car slammed into its side. They were trying to run him off the road. Those low, slimy, scum-sucking… Gene knew exactly how it would look if they managed to cause him to have an accident. The Gene Genie would be found lying in a ditch, his legs broken and Christ knew what else, his breath reeking of alcohol. Those gits would get away scot-free, the crash blamed on nothing more than a pre-dinner tipple. He couldn't let that happen, he refused to, but at that very moment it didn't seem as if he was going to have much choice in the matter.

A second impact jolted through him, denting the driver's side door and cracking the window, forcing him to throw an arm up to protect his eyes. Cursing like a navvie, he tried to outrun the threat, but it came at him again, battering his car into submission. The third crash sent it into a wild spin that even he, who had tamed the iron horse with skill and courage, was unable to control.

His last thought, experienced as the frantic fluttering of a strong bird's wings against the inside of his skull, was that perhaps he would wake up on the same ward as Alex and then he crashed and thought no more.

* * *

_Stay calm_, Alex counselled herself as she followed in the laconically powerful footsteps of Gene Hunt. The _other_ Gene Hunt. This was obviously just a dream, admittedly a very vivid dream, but then 1982 had felt just as real to her the second time she lived through it. Any moment now she would wake up, take Molly to school once again, come in to work and be greeted by someone who was not a figment of her imagination.

"Wake up," she whispered to herself, giving her arm an experimental pinch.

Gene glanced back over his shoulder at her. "What?"

"Nothing, I just… Working to track down hackers must be very interesting."

The division 2008's answer to Gene Hunt was in charge of was technological threat. They dealt with internet hackers, people who ran illegal download sites for profit and the ever-popular credit card fraudsters. It was odd to think of Gene, who was such a technophobe, heading up such a division.

"The most interesting part of crime-fighting, DI Drake, is getting down the pub afterwards."

_Still the same old Gene_, she began to think almost fondly, before realising the absurdity and pushing it forcefully out of her mind.

"Well, 'ere we are. Home sweet home," Gene announced, stopping beside a door and swinging it open. The room beyond was functional yet comfortable, decorated in the calming tones of hospital green, waiting room beige and dentist magnolia. A computer whirred on every desk and the complex web of evidence charts spanned half of one wall. Eyes red-rimmed from constant close-up work lifted to regard her.

"Alright, listen up boys and girls; we're welcoming a new member to the team today. Everyone say hello to DI Drake."

There were a few obediently mumbled greetings from the desk-dwellers that seemed enough to satisfy Gene. He strode further into the room, allowing the door to swing closed behind him and Alex. "Introductions all round then?" he prompted.

"Uh yeah, hi, I'm Chris." A sleepy-eyed, carefully groomed man in a fashionable shirt extended one hand towards Alex, half-stood up, thought about it and sat back down again with a vaguely flustered look on his face. "Nice to meet you," he added as an amendment of his social faux paux.

Feeling a little overwhelmed, Alex felt a stab of fear through her chest. There was no mistaking the fact that this was the very same Chris she had worked with in 1982.

"That's it, just slaver over the first woman to walk into the room, no need to trip over your tongue," a female voice cut in with bitter sulkiness. Alex instantly recognised the pretty face framed by dark hair, although not the hardened expression that it currently wore. "Shaz?" she asked in soft disbelief.

"I see you've already met," Gene cut in impatiently. "Please do ignore the bickering, ever since these two got a divorce they've been nipping at each other's ankles like dogs in heat." He sent a warning glare in the separated couple's direction, and then went to gesture towards the last man left to be introduced, but at that moment the phone on the man's desk started to ring. But that hardly mattered, an introduction wouldn't be necessary. Even with his curly hair cropped short and his face shaved, the surly face of Ray was unmistakable.

Surely this couldn't be happening. It was logically impossible for these people to be here. Not for the first time, Alex began to doubt that she had ever recovered from that bullet wound at all. Perhaps she was still lying in a hospital bed somewhere, delirious and dying; or even worse, perhaps she was already dead and this was some bizarre form of purgatory. "This isn't right…"

"They may not be the elite team you're used to working with DI Drake, but they're the best I've got and they get the job done. If you don't like it you can leave." The sarcasm in Gene's voice was heavy, his tone verging on dislike. Thinking of the power-struggles she had engaged Gene in when they had first met, back in 1981, she felt profoundly weary at the thought of having to endure it all over again. Besides, she didn't have time to work at gaining his trust, she had to work out what was happening to her.

"Guv?" The voice of Ray – the _other_ Ray – broke into her thoughts. He had replaced the phone in its cradle and was looking towards the other man with a slight frown of concern creasing his forehead. "There's been a break in the case; they want someone down at the site on stakeout to keep an eye on things."

This earned him a brief nod from his DCI. "I'll go. Drake, you're with me. Give us time to get to know each other, eh?"

He left the room without waiting for an answer, leaving Alex to follow him thinking that dream or no dream, she would never get used to that voice addressing her by her proper name and not some derivative of 'Bollinger Knickers'.

* * *

A couple of hours later and she was sitting alone in a parked Volvo that was handsome, but nevertheless made her feel a little nostalgic for the old Quattro, not that she had ever been allowed to touch it without Gene's express permission. The view was nothing to write to reality about. There was not all that much to see out of the windows apart from high rise block of flats clustering together like starved trees determined to claim the sunlight for themselves.

The stakeout was not going well and they were beginning to suspect that the lead had been a waste of time. Two hours of sitting and watching the monotonous comings and goings of people absorbed in the daily grind was enough to put anyone in a foul mood. Gene had become so agitated by the inactivity that a few moments ago he had excused himself to go and buy coffee from a café down the road, leaving Alex in charge of their fruitless reconnaissance.

She knew that caffeine was probably the last thing her body needed right now, but she still looked forwards to having a warm cup of coffee in her hands; a real coffee with an exotic, exciting name and who-knew-what additives floating around its milky depths – a 2008 coffee from a modern coffee house. She couldn't remember the last time she had had one of those.

Despite her continued vigilance, she must have been distracted for a moment by her thought of beverages, because it appeared that someone had appeared in the middle of the road out of thin air. As she watched, the man – for by the build it was obviously a male – turned about in a slow circle, as though he were as surprised at finding himself there as she was by suddenly catching sight of him. Perhaps he was drunk. Leaving her post, Alex opened the car door and stepped out to approach the man.

He turned to face her just as she came within an arm's length of him and she stopped short, her breath catching in her throat with a surprised gasp. The man was none other than Gene, but what was he doing here? His hands were empty of takeaway coffee cups and besides, the café was in the opposite direction, to get here he would have to have passed her by, but she hadn't seen him. What was even stranger was that his surprise seemed equal to hers.

"What are you doing out of hospital?"

"Hospital? DCI Hunt, are you feeling alright?"

Irritation flared up on the man's face and for a moment he looked like he would like nothing more than to give Alex a good hard shake. "What's all this 'DCI Hunt' nonsense? Are you sore about me shooting you? Because you know that was an accident." A thought seemed to strike him at that moment, for his eyes widened and he grabbed compulsively at her hand. "Bloody 'ell! They think I shot you, they suspended me and everything, c'mon, you've got to come with me and explain to them what really happened."

"Gene! It really _is_ you!" Rather than feel more disturbed by the appearance of the original man in her modern world, Alex felt inexplicably reassured by his presence. A new wave of optimism flowed through her, seeming to cleanse and calm her spirit. She knew that now her constant was with her, she would be able to fight anything. As long as he was here she would be able to sort everything out. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him in a hug.

"Of course it's me, who were you expecting? The tooth fairy?" Taking hold of her by the shoulders, Gene held her out at arm's length. "What drugs have they got you on, Bolls?"

"No, you don't understand, this is 2008. You're in my time now."


	3. Chapter 3

Time is not quite as fragile as the science-fiction novelists, the Hollywood blockbusters and the careful scientist would have the public believe; it is a hardy thing that is capable of eventually righting any upsets that may occur. Rocks and diversions may necessarily occur in the stream of Time, but they can do nothing to alter its ultimate destination.

Ever since Alex's premature arrival back in her own time, disrupting the flow of consequences, Time had been busily knitting itself back into something resembling order with the unconscious brilliance of a flower turning its face towards the sun.

Gene was taking the news of his chronological displacement surprisingly well. "You need help," he barked decisively at Alex, fixing her with a disgruntled glare.

But the woman hardly heard him, lost as she was in the unwelcome scenario that had just occurred to her. "We need to get you out here before the other Gene comes back," her tone of voice was urgent, the predominant thought in her mind that she – let alone the world – was not ready for two Gene Hunts.

Something in the DCI's face seemed to soften at that moment, as if he felt sympathy for her situation and wanted to put her mind at ease, but his voice remained defiantly harsh when he spoke. "What do you mean 'the other Gene'? There can only be one Gene Genie."

"Of course, you're right!" In a flash of insight Alex realised that the man's words were not arrogance, but a simple universal fact: There can only be one constant. Gene must have been the lynchpin that held it all together. Why else would he have appeared in both her and Sam's time travel experiences? And now he was here in 2008, although whether it really was the present or just another near-death-induced dream was still to be ascertained. But something must have brought the Gene of the 1980s forwards into her time.

"What are you here to do…?" She mused aloud, for in her experience a disruption in time always seemed to coincide with something that needed to be fixed, Operation Rose for example.

"Same thing I always do, Bolls – make sure the scum know who's in charge around 'ere." Gene had moved towards the car he'd seen her emerge from and was eying it with distaste. Opening the driver's side door he swung it back and forth a couple of times, bent to look in on the interior and then glanced back at Alex. "Whose ponce-mobile is this?"

Feeling a slight pang of regret as she wondered where the Gene of 2008 was, whether he had winked out of existence, been sent hurtling back in time to fill the void left by his counterpart or had somehow amalgamated with the new arrival. Whichever fate had befallen him, she was glad that he couldn't hear his 1980s alter-ego badmouthing his car.

"It's yours," she replied simply.

"Like hell it is," Gene grumbled incredulously, but nevertheless he slipped in behind the wheel and ran his hands appreciatively over the steering wheel.

"Where to?" he asked Alex as she settled in the passenger seat beside him.

* * *

Chris elected a strip of gum from the various packets stashed in his top desk drawer, unwrapped the silver paper and then folded the gum into his mouth with comfortable familiarity. Scrunching the foil into a ball, he looked up. Sitting at the desk directly opposite him was his ex-wife Shaz, typing busily on her computer, pausing every now and then as she murmured something into the headset she was wearing. Even after all the time he had spent working with her, it still amazed him how she could get the device on and off without ever getting a hair out of place. Sulkily, he took careful aim and launched the gum wrapper at the metal wastepaper bin beside Shaz's desk. She glanced over as it fell in, but instead of taking the bait, turned her attention straight back to her computer screen.

With a sigh, Chris idly perused the surface of his desk in search of another missile. The Guv was late checking in; he should have radioed with an all's-well at least ten minutes ago. Chris had just decided to get in contact and was reaching for the phone when the door to the office was flung open by none other than the new girl herself, followed closely by DCI Hunt.

"Catch anything?" Chris quipped with a grin and a quick glance in Shaz's direction to see if she found him as amusing as he found himself.

"That's a matter of contention," the new DI muttered with an odd look. Then, as if a switch had been flicked somewhere inside of her, she became hard and business-like, resting her hands flat on Chris's desk and leaning in towards him. Her face was uncomfortably close to his as she demanded, almost accusingly, "Tell me about this case you're working on, Chris."

"Why can't the Guv tell you?"

"He wants _you_ to tell me."

Bewildered, the impromptu interrogation subject listed a little to one side, catching a glimpse of the Guv around the outline of the woman leaning over him. Gene was gazing around the office space as if he had never seen it before in his life, a disorientated frown on his face. Even as Chris watched, his DCI wandered over to the supply cupboard, opened the door with an unnecessarily violent tug and marched straight into it, seeming surprised to find himself confronted with an array of over-full shelves.

"'Ere, what's wrong with him?"

Impatiently, Alex glanced over her shoulder and then back at Chris. Lowering her voice to a confidential stage-whisper she replied "They were only serving decaffeinated at the coffee shop."

A look of understanding dawned on the young police officer's face. "Ah."

"Now, about this case..?"

* * *

Meanwhile, despite his mishap with the supply cupboard, Gene had managed to make his way unscathed to his inner sanctum – his office. Once inside, he swung the door shut behind him and made straight for the chair behind his desk, sitting down heavily on it. A glance around the cramped space only worsened his growing sense of disorientation – in place of the glass he had become accustomed to in his 'real' office, this one boasted only a small window set high above the door. He wondered how he was supposed to keep an eye on anyone locked away in this windowless, airless hole.

This was a dream, he knew it was. A bloody vivid dream perhaps, but a dream all the same. But whether dreaming or awake, he was still Gene Hunt and he hadn't risen to the rank of Detective Chief Inspector by backing down when confronted by a challenge. What he needed to do first of all was to remember what he had been doing before this bizarre change in his circumstances had occurred and then he might be able to work out exactly what was going on here. At least he could rule out the possibility that he had gone mad. People like Gene simply didn't have enough time to waste in going mad.

A stiff drink would be just the thing to jog his memory. Systematically, he began going through his desk drawers, because if this was the office of a Gene Hunt then there was bound to be alcohol stashed away somewhere and he bargained that dream alcohol would be just as effective as the real thing.

His search was interrupted by a tapping on the door. "What?" he called out irritably, slamming a drawer shut.

The door opened and a clean-shaven man with buzz-cut hair stepped in, holding a thick manila folder in one hand. "Thought you might want to read through these reports," the man offered, holding up the folder.

Gene pushed back a little from his desk, glaring narrowly at the intruder. "Not particularly. Who the 'ell are you?"

At those words, the expression on the man's face instantly hardened. With a little more force than was necessary, he slapped the folder down on the corner of the desk. The opening flap fell open and a few pages spilled out, revealing neatly typed police reports. Curious, Gene reached out and snagged the uppermost page on his fingertips, drawing it towards him. What he saw was enough to confirm his suspicions of dreaming – the report was completely unreadable, filled with heady jargon he couldn't even begin to comprehend. Every word was complete and utter bollocks. With a grunt, he stuffed the papers back into their folder.

"Look Guv, I apologised for losing your 'The Good, The Bad and The Ugly' DVD, alright?"

"My _what_?"

The man opened his mouth to reply and from the look on his face it was evident that his next words were going to be anything but friendly, but just as he was about to speak a voice from outside called "Oi, Ray! Come and have a look at this."

That man was Raymondo? Of course Gene wouldn't have recognised him, ever since he had first met the man he had never seen him sans moustache. Some had even joked that the man had been born with the facial adornment. Gene stared at him as Ray turned and began to walk from the room, able to recognise the man now that he knew who he was.

At the last moment, Ray turned back and said "There's a message waiting for you on line one," and then he was closing the door behind him.

Looking down at the telephone on his desk, Gene could see that a little red light next to the notation 'Line 1' was indeed flashing. So were a lot of other lights. Warily, for Gene was not renowned for getting along well with technology, he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. There was nothing on the other end except silence. Scowling at the flashing control panel that might as well have come straight from the set of a _Star Trek_ episode, he attempted to figure out how to work the phone.

A stab at the small button located next to the flashing red light prompted a command to enter his identification code. Thankfully, this was easy enough and Gene rapidly typed it in. There was a click and then he was smoothly put through to his answering machine.

"You have _one_ new message," a robotic female voice informed him.

There were a couple of seconds of muted static as the message was readied to be played and then an unfamiliar voice began to speak in Gene's ear. "This is your last chance," the voice said grimly, "Don't screw it up."

A tone sounded, announcing the end of the message. Gene sat silently, the receiver still pressed tightly to his ear, listening to the hum of an open line.

* * *

Money – was there no depth that it couldn't coax man down to?

The crime DCI Hunt – the _other_ Hunt, Alex's mind insisted upon calling him – had been put in charge of solving was one of straightforward credit card fraud. Somewhere out there, a group of hackers were managing to obtain the PIN codes of wealthy bank accounts and were drawing out large amounts of money. It should have been an open-shut case, only these hackers seemed to be particularly skilled in their chosen field of crime. They always seemed to be in possession of the latest specialised software and from the way they constantly appeared to be at least one step ahead of the long arm of the law, it had been speculated that the hackers had access to inside information.

Chris had told Alex that she had been assigned to the case not only to keep her out of harm's way for a while, but because her skill at psychological profiling might provide them with insight that was seemingly impossible for straightforward policing to achieve in this case. Her intuitive understanding of human nature might be able to given them some idea about how to capture the criminals. Ordinarily this might have caused some pressure to rest upon Alex's shoulders, but with the added complication of Gene's appearance in 2008, she was unsure of how she was going to be able to cope.

Having finished work for the day, she had gone with Gene to set him up in a nearby bed and breakfast, intending to devote her efforts to solving the mystery of his arrival after a good night's sleep. He had been unusually subdued on the drive there, but that was only understandable, given what had happened to him. Alex had felt a little guilty about leaving him alone, but Gene had proven time and time again that he was more than capable of looking after himself. Besides, she had her daughter to care for.

Now, unlocking her front door, she was glad to be home. She wanted nothing more than to snuggle down on the sofa in front of the television with Molly and forget about the day.

"I'm home, Molls!" She called as she stepped into the hallway, swinging the door closed behind her. There was no reply, but that wasn't unusual. Especially since after the accident. "I'm making a drink, do you want anything?" Alex continued, undeterred by the silence of the house, making her way to the kitchen. The sight that confronted her in the room was enough to make her stop dead in the doorway, tears of sentiment pricking the corners of her eyes.

Propped up on the counter in view of the open kitchen door, was a handmade card. In the unskilled, but confident hand of a child, an abstract vase of red and pink roses bloomed on the front. A smile on her lips and an overwhelming feeling of love in her chest, Alex reached for the card and opened it. She was confronted by a blank page. Frowning, she turned it over in her hands, but there was no writing anywhere to be found. Opening it up again, she stared for long moments at the pristine interior of the card. There was something disquieting about the empty whiteness of the page.

She started to call her daughter's name, but at some point her mouth had become unbearably dry and all she managed was a painful croak. Wetting her lips, she tried again. "Molly?" Met by silence once again, Alex embarked upon a thorough search of the house, her heart pounding.

Coming to the last room left to search – her bedroom – Alex was starting to form the terrible conclusion that she was alone. All she had found of Molly was the girl's school bag open on her bed, text books spilling out onto the duvet in an untidy sprawl. Moving on numb legs, she entered her own room. Molly was not in there, but it was evident that _someone_ had been, because someone would have had to sprinkle the sheets with rose petals and left the bottle of Rosé wine on the bedisde table, a glass set out invitingly behind it.

Holding onto the desperate sobs that threatened to tear her in half, Alex reached for the bedroom phone, her only thought to call Gene and tell him what had happened, to galvanise him and the entire police force into finding her missing daughter. But as her shaking hand hovered over the receiver, the radio alarm clock she kept on the bedside table leapt to life, and David Bowie's voice crooned with infinite sadness "_I'm happy, hope you're happy too_."


End file.
